Go Ask Alice
by TallieCat
Summary: Helen Kingsley notices a change in her daughter.


_**Disclaimer:**__ They don't belong to me—I just play with them! _

**Go Ask Alice**

There were many things about Alice Kingsley that did not add up.

This had, of course, always been true—but in the past, the Things Which Did Not Add Up could be explained away as strictly mental in nature. She was slightly off, slightly odd, slightly mad. Her father had infected her at an early age, it was said. He had been lucky—his madness had paid off well for his family. Because of it Miss Kingsley was a lady of means and stature which, of course, meant that some small madness could be tolerated.

_If_ she could keep her pretty lips closed with any kind of frequency.

Unfortunately, it was also said, the poor silly child had grown into a woman with the singularly regrettable tendency of keeping those lips closed but rarely.

Alice had given a very public demonstration of that tendency this very afternoon. She had turned down Hamish Ascot in front of _everybody_, and then proceeded to say _such_ things to the other guests… She had topped the afternoon off by _informing_ Lord Ascot that she had business to discuss with him, after rejecting his son in such a manner!

Regrettable indeed.

It was obvious that Those Things Which Did Not Add Up were not strictly mental anymore, either. There was something _more_ in the child's face. Something new. Something that had not been there prior to her unseemly dash away from the engagement party. "I fell down a hole and hit my head" certainly explained her overlong absence, as well as the ruined state of her clothing. But those long angry wounds on her arm were surely _not_ caused by rocks or tree branches. They were perfectly parallel, like the claw markings of some enormous creature. Furthermore, they appeared to be some days old—already half healed. Any vaguely observant person could have said with certainty that those angry wounds had not existed prior to her flight from Hamish's hand.

Likewise, it was questionable as to whether striking one's head could cause such an abrupt change in demeanor. Alice had always been a rebellious, independent, outspoken girl—but she had also always been very meek and submissive when confronted. Even though she had not liked the idea of marrying Hamish, it had been assumed by all that she would do as told. Eventually, Alice _always_ did as she was told. Her shoulders were rarely so squared, her chin never lifted so confidently. Defensively, yes. Defiantly, certainly. But confidently? Confidently enough to say the things she said, and _then_ reveal her unstockinged legs by dancing such a vulgar dance in view of the entire would-be engagement party? The Alice of old would never have considered such a thing.

Alice was a girl who could never be accused of having much confidence.

Until now.

There was no question. Something had happened to the girl in the last twenty minutes. Something that went far beyond falling down a hole and hitting her pretty, crazy little head. Only a few present had these thoughts. Everyone else was content to take the entire matter at face value. It would provide wonderful fuel for gossip for months, if not longer. The story would stretch and spread until it reached an epic proportion—perfectly unbelievable, if it weren't for the friend of an aunt of a friend who had been there in person to watch it unravel!

Lord Ascot was one of the few who realized all was no longer quite as it seemed with Alice. Her idea of expanding the company to China, however, was so very exciting that it drove all other train of thought from his mind. Her sister was another of these few but discovering her beloved husband's indiscretions, understandably, occupied her whole mind for some time.

Her mother was a perceptive third.

And unlike the others, there was nothing in the world that could distract the Lady Kingsley's mind away from her youngest, craziest and dearest child.

"Alice, shall I wait for you to finish speaking to Lord Ascot?" she had asked as the soiled blue skirts had literally skipped by her. Alice had paused briefly and turned to her.

"No mother, I will find my own way home," she said. "This may take some time."

And so Helen Kingsley went home.

She was very proud of her daughter when she learned of the position she had taken. She was horrified at the notion of her youngest girl hopping onto a boat full of sailors and going to China, of all places. She was exasperated at the child's complete and utter lack of ladylike decorum.

At the moment, however, she was mostly worried about the startling changes that had possessed her youngest girl.

It took her back to a time the child woke up distraught and asked, "Mother, what is the sum of one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one? I can do sums, but I can_not _find the answer!" She had been half asleep still, and tears of frustration were falling from her eyes.

Helen wondered now, did the sum not add up? Or did the listener simply fail to understand the question? She was determined to find the answer. After Alice had burst through the door and told her mother everything she had discussed with Lord Ascot, Helen said to her, "I know we don't always see quite eye to eye, but you do know that I love you. All that I want in this world is to see you happy."

"Yes mother," Alice said. "Of course I know that."

Helen reached forward and gently brushed a lock of hair from the young woman's forehead. "Alice," she said hesitatingly, "you can tell me anything. Anything at all. You do know that?"

"Anyone can tell anyone anything if they choose to," Alice said. "Unless they haven't the means to communicate."

"That is not quite what I meant," Helen said gently. "I meant…Alice, will you tell me what really happened when you ran from Hamish's proposal?"

"I really did fall down a hole and hit my head," Alice said.

"And what else?"

"What else can there be? After a time, I came out and returned to the party. You saw me yourself."

"How long was 'a time'?"

"How long was I absent?"

"Alice, that is not what I asked."

"Well, I certainly couldn't have been gone for longer than I was, could I? And I most certainly wasn't gone for less time."

"What of the marks on your arms?"

"I received them when I fell down the hole."

One and one and one and one, Helen mused silently. Here are nearly all of the ones, and still no sum to be had! "Alice. . ."

"Yes mother?"

"I know my daughter would not lie to me. But will she tell the entire truth?"

"That all depends."

"On?"

"On how much you truly wish to know. And on how much you will be willing to believe."

"I would believe anything you told me."

"How do you know you would believe me, without knowing what I will say? I know what I could tell you, and I do not believe that you would believe it."

"You have always told me the truth. If it is true, I will believe it."

"There are many things in the world that are true, but are not believed."

"Alice, if you told me what happened, would it be the truth?"

"If I did, it would."

"Then I would believe you."

Alice gave her mother a small smile. "You may only believe that I believe it. You may also believe that although _I_ believe it with every fiber of my being, every word of it is false. In which case, I fear you would be tempted to put me into a sanitarium."

"I would never!"

"Would you swear to it?"

"Daughter, if you were mad as a hatter I would not institutionalize you. I swear this on my soul."

Alice's face flashed through a number of expressions at her mother's words, and so quickly that for a moment Helen actually _did_ fear for the girl's sanity. It settled on a look that was halfway resolve and halfway resignation. "Would you believe that these marks on my arm were caused by a fantastical creature called a Bandersnatch? And that they were set to healing by the selfsame creature, after I befriended him by returning his eye?"

Mrs. Kingsley looked very hard at her daughter. Part of her wanted to say that such a notion was ridiculous. Another part of her was all too aware that she was being tested. A third part of her made her look to the angry marks on her daughter's arm, each carved into the porcelain flesh with surgical precision. They were too clean to be from branches or stones, and too perfectly parallel to be from a single blade. She finally said, very slowly, "I would say that this Bandersnatch must be an enormous creature."

"Oh, it is. Nearly had me, at first, until Mallyumpkin stabbed out its eye."

"Mallyumpkin?"

"A most courageous dormouse."

"I see."

Helen was extremely aware of the close eye being cast upon her by her daughter. Alice, it seemed, was waiting for her to realize that she would not be taking back her words. The girl believed what she was saying, as much as she believed in the blue of the sky and the unpleasantness of Hamish Ascot. "A Bandersnatch and a dormouse."

"It happened," Alice said. "And more besides. Do you believe me?"

The question was heavy. _Did_ she believe? Could she possibly? "Why don't you tell me what else happened? It may be easier for me to believe in context."

"Trust me, mother, it won't. That was one of the tamest and most believable things to happen to me in the Underland. If you cannot believe it, you will not believe the rest."

"The Wonderland?" Helen repeated in shock. "You haven't spoken of that since you were a tiny girl!"

"You remember?" Alice asked, surprised.

"Of course I remember," her mother said. "Never in the world has a child come up with such ideas…and you held onto them for so long! Talking animals are one thing, but grinning and vanishing cats? Unbirthdays? Flamingo croquet? I _thoroughly_ blamed your father."

Alice's lips quirked into a smile and she said, "I wonder if the Hatter has celebrated an unbirthday lately? If he hasn't, he ought. It would do everyone some good, to celebrate an unbirthday here and there. There hasn't been much cause to celebrate until recently. They have an awful lot of catching up to do."

"Do they?"

Alice shook her blonde curls sharply, and fixed wary brown eyes on her mother's. Her eyes were so dark, Helen mused. So curious, so intelligent and thoughtful. They pierced through a person, stared straight into the heart. "And at any rate, Underland is quite real. When I fell in the first time, everything was so fantastical to me… I misunderstood the name of the place and called it Wonderland. It is still a difficult habit to break. Mother, you'd best call for tea. It has been far too long since I've had my last cup, and this is a very long story. You will want to be sitting down for it."

The comment did not reassure Mrs. Kingsley in the least, but she welcomed the chance to collect herself and to prepare for…whatever Alice presumed to tell her next. And after the tea had been poured and her daughter began to speak, she found herself even more grateful for that time of preparation. The tea had long since gone cold by the end of the girl's story, and the scones and crackers were still nearly untouched. At some point lamps had been lit—it was very dark outside—but Helen had no memory of who lit them, or when.

She must have spent too much time on these observations: she gradually became aware of Alice's concerned voice repeating "Mother? Mother?"

"I am sorry, dear," she said. "It's only…this is a lot to take in."

"And do you believe me? Or shall I be packed off to an asylum?"

The question was so lucid and pointed that Lady Kingsley felt another part of her disbelief crumble away beneath it. "You shall _not_ be going to an asylum," she said firmly. "After all, it would be terribly difficult to travel to China while locked away."

"Assuming Lord Ascot allows his new female apprentice to travel to China," Alice said softly.

"Darling girl," Helen said fondly, "if you have it in your head to go, you most certainly will go. It is in your nature."

Alice took her mother's comment for a compliment and glowed under it for a moment before saying, "That only answers one question. I believe I asked two?"

Helen took a sip of tea, and grimaced delicately at its temperature. It was a stall for time, and she sighed as she realized it was not going to buy her enough. "Alice," she finally said, "I want to believe you. Truly I do. But it is not easy to promptly believe things that you have been taught your entire life do not exist."

"You have never been taught that these things do not exist. One can't be told to disbelieve things no one knows about."

"While very true, even you had a difficult time believing. On _both _of your trips, and by your own admission."

"That was rather embarrassing."

"I can imagine so. You were hardly to be blamed, though. You were so small the first time you went, and your father and I spent so many years telling you that it was a dream."

"It was quite a relief to finally know why I've never had any other dreams," Alice admitted. "That it was my mind trying to go right, and not to take leave. You are speaking as though you believe me."

"I did say that I was trying, didn't I? And I cannot find any other excuse for those dreadful wounds on your arm."

"I never believed I would be grateful for such a wound," Alice said. "I wish I could tell the Bandersnatch that this ended up being a help!"

"It is inconvenient that the only way in is through a rabbit-hole on the Ascot's property. And that the only way out is by the blood of a monster. I still can't believe you put that into your mouth!"

"You wouldn't believe half the things I had to put into my mouth while I was down there," Alice muttered. "And anyway, I nearly didn't." The admission was a difficult one for Alice to make. "I wanted to stay. I feel as though I belong there far more than I ever have here. You have no idea how inconvenient it is to be so thoroughly separated from them, especially now that I know they are real. I haven't been gone a day, and I already miss them dearly."

The girl stared deeply into her teacup, for such a long time that her mother began to worry. "Alice? Alice, are you alright?"

"Quite alright, mother, sorry."

"What were you thinking?"

Alice's lips quirked. "I was contemplating words that begin with the letter "D." Dashing, dapper, dearly, daring, delicious… D is an awfully good letter, isn't it?"

"Whatever turned your thoughts to that?"

"Dreary. Discontent. Desolate. Difficult. Those were my first words. But they were so terribly sad… I had to think of a few nicer ones, to balance them out."

"Darling…"

"That's a good one too! Well done, mother."

"_Alice_," Helen said a little more firmly. "Please."

"Sorry, mother. I seem to be having a little trouble thinking properly. Properly for London, at any rate. I believe I am thinking perfectly properly for Underland. Underlandian thinking rubs off on you easily. Rather rude, really, to rub onto you without permission." Alice giggled suddenly. "Rather rude really rubs. I believe we've switched to R."

Helen must have looked worried, because Alice gave her head a shake hard enough to send blonde ringlets into a dervish around her face. "Mother, I truly am sorry. In order to keep from going mad in Underland, you must learn to think quite madly…does that make as much sense to you as it does me? At any rate, it is a difficult habit to break. I seem to remember it being so when I was small, as well. When one is small, however, it can be chalked up to childish fancy. As a woman fully grown, I'm afraid it does make me seem fit for an Institution."

"It does indeed," Helen said, "and so it is good that I have already made up my mind to keep you out of such a place."

"I do thank you for that," Alice said primly, forcing Helen to suppress a giggle of her own. "And I thank you for taking this so well. Tell me mother, would you like to see Underland? When I return from my travels, if Lord Ascot allows me to travel? I did promise the Hatter that I would be back before he knew it. I do hope he didn't take that to mean sooner than he expects. It will be at _least_ a year or two before I can return. Of course, time in Underland seems to pass much more slowly than in our world. Perhaps I will return before _I _expect. That would be wonderful, wouldn't it? You must say you will come, mother!"

"You don't believe I am a little too old to go jumping down rabbit holes?"

"You are only too old if you believe you are too old," Alice said with a queer little smirk. "Why, I don't believe I shall ever be too old for anything!"

"I do wish you would find yourself too old to go about without a corset and stockings," Helen found herself grumbling. Alice laughed in delight and exclaimed, "Why mother, you're finding your sense of humor! Where _has _it been hiding all this time? Naughty thing!"

This time Helen Kingsley couldn't help the laughter that sprang up inside her. That one comment, combined with all the ridiculousness of the last few hours, broke the last traces of reserve from her heart. She found suddenly that she believed Alice. Every word the child said. And in light of such serious insanity, corsets and stockings truly did seem completely and _thoroughly_ ridiculous.

_**Author's Note:**__ I've been kicking around this idea for awhile—I've only seen the film once, so please forgive any inconsistencies. Also, I haven't taken much time on it so please also excuse any poor grammar that you might have tripped over on the way down! I may or may not add to it later—in the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed it!_


End file.
